


the dream seller

by cirque



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drug analogy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24461440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque
Summary: "Swallow it down like it’s nectar, but don’t expect it to taste sweet. The very best things always hurt, y’know?"
Relationships: Seller of Dreams in Bottles & Buyer of Dreams Unsure of What She Wants
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7
Collections: Original Characters & Original Works Flash Exchange May 2020





	the dream seller

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosemarycat5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosemarycat5/gifts).



Emony inspected the array of bottles. They looked for all the world like little perfume vials, full of varying-color liquids, but Emony knew that they were something more besides. They looked like water, but they were dreams. The lighter ones, the gold and silver, were happy dreams, daydreams, flights of fancy, even ecstasy. The darker wares, the navy and the pewter, were horrors, your worst nightmare come to light, a nasty-tasting mistake for sure. She wasn’t sure what she wanted exactly, but she knew she wanted to stay far away from _those._

The crowd of people thinned around her as she approached the stall. She had to decide quickly, or else look a fool.

“Umm,” she said, and sealed her fate as a fool.

The vendor raised an eyebrow at her, and laughed. “First time?”

“I’ve never…” she’d never so much as smoked a cigarette, how could she expect to be able to chase the high of liquid dreams? She felt like a criminal searching for a fix, though dream selling had been legal on Hrax for forty-some years.

“You’ve never,” said the seller, as though that was that. “You wouldn’t believe how many people I get who never ever ever thought they’d end up here. But in the end, everyone comes to see me. Everyone’s got that little spark of curiosity. They all want to know what truths are hidden inside.” She tapped one of the bottles that she had on the counter, a baby pink with little blossoms floating inside. It shuddered at her contact, the blooms disturbed, and Emony felt a shiver ripple down her spine.

The seller grinned, as though she knew. “Just tell me what you want. I’ll do the legwork.”

“I want…” she had thought about it a lot, really, perhaps more than was considered healthy. “I want the kind of happiness that comes from running through wet grass on a warm evening, as the sun drips out its last rays across the sky. I want fresh lemonade and a hug from my favorite person. I want birdsong and blasphemy a-a-and birthday cake! I want to feel magic.”

The seller’s other eyebrow joined its neighbor. “Ah,” she said. “You want this one.” She pointed to an ocean-colored bottle, sitting pretty between several dark red phials that looked alarmingly like blood. 

The seller tapped the glass again, and the oceanic bottle trembled. Emony couldn’t say if it was blue or green; it seemed to linger between the two. It bubbled, and her mouth watered at the sight of it. She wondered: would it taste of salt?

“How much?”

“Fifteen credits, non-negotiable.” 

Emony had much more than fifteen credits, but she tried to look shocked as though she could scarcely afford it. She gasped at the price, but didn’t tear her eyes from her dreams that frothed in the bottle like the sea itself. She made a show of weighing up whether or not it was worth it, and then she smiled decisively. “I’ll take it.”

The seller opened the glass display case, carefully so as not to disturb the dreams. She fetched the blue-green bottle with a steady hand and passed it to Emony, whose hand was shaking at the tension. The bottle felt warm, as though it had been left out in the sun. 

She smiled in thanks. “What do I… y’know, _do_?”

The seller threw back her head and laughed at that. “Gods, you really are a first-timer.” She smiled, as though she got this sort of thing often. She likely did. “Get somewhere quiet, somewhere you won’t mind staying for a good few hours. For the love of all the Gods, don’t take it in the street. Just--just get somewhere peaceful. Somewhere you won’t be disturbed. I won’t be held liable if you trip into traffic, okay?”

“Okay.” She couldn’t very well take it back to the palace, but maybe she could find somewhere in the gardens. It would be nice, she thought, to recline under the shadow of an apple tree in the south orchard, and sup on dreams themselves.

“Once you’re sitting comfortably, unstopper the bottle. Be careful not to get it on your hands, these blue ones sting like a wasp on a rampage. You’ll have a rash for weeks, and I ain’t liable for that either. So open it slowly, like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held in those dainty hands. Lift it to your lips. Pour, slowly. If you get any on your lips, you get the rash, understand? Tip it onto your tongue in one careful movement. Swallow it down like it’s nectar, but don’t expect it to taste sweet. The very best things always hurt, y’know?”

Emony nodded seriously. 

“And I won’t be held liable if you get addicted, either. I’m supposed to tell you that before I take your money. These things are poison, y’know, if you get carried away. It ain’t just the rash. You’ll be begging me for these black ones, these dark ones, the night terrors. And I’ll sell them to you, because it’s good business and because it ain’t illegal. Understand?”

Emony thought this was overkill: she only wanted one taste. One sip, one mouthful, one trip. She nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” The seller held out her hand for the money, and Emony carefully counted out a ten-chip and a five, glinting in the light from the twin suns high above. She cradled the little bottle against her bosom, and its warmth was a welcome comfort, radiating through her dress.

“Remember what I told you, and you’ll be fine. I’ll see you next time.”

“Right.” Emony knew when she was being dismissed. She wasn’t entirely sure there would be a next time, but she let it slide and she smiled as though she was in on the joke. 

She made her way back through the growing crowd, the bottle safe in her cupped hands. There were all sorts of people clamoring for the dream seller’s attention, addicts and thrill-seekers, the hopeless and the dreamers. Emony could not say who among them she felt most akin to, as she made her way through the market stalls and down several curving streets, until she came to the foot of the hill upon which stood the palace she called her home. Its high towers glinted, the stained glass windows reflecting all sorts of colors.

They would be missing her, she knew. Someone was probably looking for her. Mother perhaps, or one of her maids. _Let them find me beneath the apple tree,_ she thought, _let them find me dreaming._


End file.
